Editor's page

Of Rolls-Royce, Resorts
and Race Horses

Welcome to November and what we’ve decided to call our “luxury” issue now that we’ve expanded our traditional focus on art and antiques this month.

In any case, now is the time of Thanksgiving, when all of us should pause to celebrate the good things in life and pray for the wisdom and strength to rid our world of the bad things.

If the aim of our magazines is both to educate and to entertain, then Jane Kendall’s article on how to collect art deserves a capital E in the education column. How lucky we are to have an expert to call upon right in our own front yard — Peter Sutton of the Bruce Museum. And over at Jan Calloway’s house, her collection of books on genealogy has led to the building of a remarkable library where we learn what wonders can be wrought by top-notch artisans. One example of craftsmanship: the bronze caster, who because he had worked on the restoration of the Brighton Pavilion, was allowed into the Victoria and Albert in London to make a wax model of the chandelier for Jan.

We also feature articles that educate us in other areas: the business of building first-class resorts, like Ed Trippe’s in Bermuda, and of owning and racing horses, as do a number of Greenwich residents.

Totally entertaining is Chris Hodenfield’s essay on driving a half-million-dollar Rolls- Royce for a few days. Behind the wheel, he found he could breeze through the well-guarded entrance to not just one but two exclusive clubs to which he did not belong. As for his piece on martinis, well, he did get a chanceto talk to a few local bartenders and found that some of their stories were a bit too entertaining to include here.

Now for a moment in Moffly family history that I’ve been encouraged to share. In September, Jack and I visited Prague with our friends Liz and Bob Hart. Our second night, we were dining quietly on the third floor of a wonderful little restaurant filled with antiques and soft piano music when Liz whispered: “I think a famous tennis player was just seated at that table behind you.” I sneaked a peek and sure enough, there was Roger Federer and his Czech girlfriend. I was elected to make contact, but didn’t want to intrude on them. So I decided to write a note: “We recognized you when you came in. Thank you for enabling us to enjoy such fabulous tennis at the U.S. Open.” Signed, “Four fans from Connecticut.” Barely moving my shoulders, I reached behind me, slipped it beside his salad plate and waited. Would he ignore it? Tear it up? Liz was watching his face nervously. “He’s reading it,” she reported. “He’s smiling.” Then, “He’s laughing!” At which point I turned and asked him: “Do you have jet lag? We’re in terrible shape!” And we had a lovely chat with Roger Federer — a charming, unassuming young man who, having just won the U.S. Open the week before, was probably the most famous tennis player in the world. And is definitely a class act.